Curse of the Witch
by Texan Red Rose
Summary: Wounded and trudging through the wilds, Fareeha knows there's dangers all around her. When she comes face-to-face with the fabled Witch of the Wilds, though, it becomes a matter of telling fact from fiction.


**Disclaimer:** I just wanted to do a dumb little story with Mercy in her witch skin, okay?

* * *

Lightning streaked the skies as thunder rumbled, the pounding rain turning the road beneath her feet into sucking mud. Normally, she'd have a mount of some sort to traverse such terrain, but fighting a dragon that ambushed her on the way back to the capital had robbed her of much. All her supplies, her horse, even her sword, all lost- she'd barely made it out with her scorched leather and dented armor.

Brown eyes lifted, blinking against the rain pelting her face as she grit her teeth and trudged on, hoping to find some manner of village or settlement along the road. She needed somewhere to rest and the forest wouldn't do, not with the stories surrounding the place.

Fareeha Amari, knight errant, protector of the people, didn't often buy into the stories she heard traded around taverns. Such gossip usually fell into one of two categories: blatantly untrue or heavily exaggerated. Yet, as far as she'd found, there always laid a nugget of truth amid the details. But the ones she'd heard about the Wilds?

No matter which part may be true, they all sounded horrible.

As she trudged further up the road, the rain lessened only because the trees pressed even closer, the canopy blocking some of the storm's fury. However, without that little bit to distract her, she noticed the pain from her wounds more keenly. The dragon's claws had dug deep into her skin where it broke through her armor and she didn't have much means of staunching the bleeding. It drained her strength as much as the mud and the weight of her remaining armor. It might be better to get rid of it… but then she'd have to contend against the cold.

Idly, she reached for the falcon pendant pinning her cloak in place. "Horus, grant me wings. It's the only way I'm getting out of this mess." A bitter, derisive chuckle left her lips. "Like that could happen."

"You shouldn't be so quick to discount miracles."

Fareeha froze, listening intently. Had she imagined that voice? It sounded like no one she knew… yet, no one else could be so foolish as to walk the wilds at night.

At least… no one she'd _want_ to face off against in her current state, wounded and disarmed.

"Who goes there?" Her voice sounded strong, at least, despite the blood loss, and she reached for the empty sheath at her belt in the hopes whoever might be watching her hand't noticed. Not that she had an overt amount of faith in her luck at the moment but, in the absence of steel, her wit would have to be sharp enough. "Show yourself."

"I'm not the sort of person you should make demands of, wayward knight." The voice- soft, smooth, like drizzled honey, meant to set her at ease while dread crawled under her skin.

"And I am not the sort of person to be trifled with," she replied, turning in a slow circle, trying to pinpoint the source of the voice. "My name is Fareeha Amari-"

"The Falcon Knight, Pharah- you bear many names but I've heard of you." She came to a dead stop, the voice just a step or two behind her. "And I suspect you've heard of me as well."

She turned, slowly, and found herself standing face-to-face with a woman just a few inches shorter, with a wide brimmed hat that jutted up before folding back, a charm hanging from the pointed tip. Wings- for they could be mistaken for nothing else- rose up, protruding from the back of her shoulder blades and flitting in little motions as raindrops hit them and the broach tying the shawl draped over her shoulders glowed with an unnatural light at the hollow of her throat, much like her eyes, crystal blue and watching her every move.

Indeed, she'd heard many tales of this woman.

"The Witch of the Wilds." The words left her lips in a hushed whisper, cursing her luck. As the stories went, an immortal witch who could bend the rules of life and death, who would grant immeasurable power at an even greater cost, and a deadly adversary to any who crossed her.

"My reputation precedes me." She looked up at the knight, the smile on her lips slowly spreading wider. "Lucky for you."

"I'm not so sure," she replied, running through her options. Bereft of a weapon- not that any simple sword could slay the Witch, anyway- she had to somehow outsmart the woman, and that seemed to be a tall order, according to the tales.

A brow raised as she hummed, blue eyes scanning over her broken armor. "You need medical attention and shelter from the storm, brave knight. I can provide both."

"For a price." She pointed out, not buckling under the scrutiny.

"Well, I can't very well _give_ my services away. I learned that lesson long ago." A quick flicker, a dark shadow that passed over her expression before being buried under smug amusement. "So, yes, there will be a price… but you're not in much of a position to refuse."

Fareeha narrowed her eyes. On the one hand, she had a point, because the weakness in her limbs made the idea of any sort of fight daunting… but on the other, she saw an opportunity. "Perhaps I will anyway."

The Witch seemed taken aback by that, blinking a few moments in stunned silence. "… what?"

"Whatever price you name, I already know I can't pay." The knight shrugged, lips curling into a grin. "So I'll refuse your services altogether."

All tales held a bit of exaggeration. In every story about the Witch of the Wilds, the woman seemed to appear to those who were mindlessly devoted to their causes or be sought out by them and never mentioned her terms prior to them being accepted. In a lot of ways, those who made deals with her brought upon themselves their own suffering, either through greed, hubris, or just a profound lack of awareness.

But Fareeha wouldn't fall into such an easy trap.

"Are you really so foolish as to let yourself bleed out rather than accept help?" Her brows furrowed, hands settling on her hips as she regarded the knight with… what had to be probably one of the… _cutest_ displays of anger she'd ever seen, such a dire contrast to her demeanor just a few moments prior.

"I'd rather bleed out than pay I price I can't afford; accepting help has nothing to do with it," she said, shrugging and hissing at the stab of pain that the action caused. Honestly, she'd intentionally done it for the effect, but she caught the genuine note of concern in the woman's expression. "I'm afraid you'll make no deal with me."

"What if I let _you_ determine the price?"

The words caught Fareeha's attention but they seemed to surprise the Witch more than anything. "You would do that?"

"I suppose I can." A peculiar word choice but a significant one. "Name your price."

She made a contemplative noise, unsure how far she could push… but a bit further couldn't hurt. "I'll name my price after I've been healed."

"Turnabout." A little chuckle. "I suppose that's fair. Very well." She raised a hand, middle finger and thumb pressed together. "First, let's get out of the rain."

With a snap of her fingers, her wings lit up, orange and yellow in shades, bright enough to force Fareeha's eyes closed. When she opened them, she stood not in the middle of a dark and damp forest but in the hall of some grand castle, stone walls reach high and tasteful decor and trappings every way she looked. Were she to guess, they stood somewhere on the west side of the Wilds, opposite of the way she'd been heading.

Candles provided low, flickering light, throwing shifting shadows on the walls, and a fire roared in a fireplace at the far end of the hall, where a single armchair sat.

"This way," the Witch said, beckoning her to follow.

Which she did, in stuttered steps, her own strength waning now that the chill in her bones was being chased away by the warmth of the fire. "Where are we?"

"The home of an old acquaintance." She sniffed, the heels of her boots clacking against the stone, the tattered hems of her robes swaying with every step. "She doesn't mind if I come and go as I please, though you might see her lurking about. I'll have to ask that you not try to kill her while you're under my care. It would be exceptionally rude."

"What makes you think I would try to?" She raised a brow, shuffling after the Witch and hissing as she was eased into the chair. Sore muscles and injuries would make it difficult for her to rest for a while yet.

"She's a vampire." She waved a hand. "A rather dramatic one but harmless aside from that. You have nothing to fear from her, provided you remain cordial."

"Did she earn her fate by paying one of your prices?" The Witch's deft hands began peeling away the pieces of her armor, allowing her to see the full extent of the damage for the first time. Hopefully, it looked worse than it felt, because she hadn't quite expected for her backplate to be _that_ absolutely shredded.

"You haven't heard the story? About how I seduced a noblewoman and had her trade her mortality for a blood curse, to remain by my side as a servant for all of time?" A note of derision lingering in her tone, hardly detectable but Fareeha found herself playing close attention to both the Witch's words and her actions. "Just one of many."

"Is that the truth?"

"What?"

"You ask if I've heard the story, but a story traded around a tavern is hardly a reliable source." She winced as her tunic was peeled away, the portions of the cloth that stuck to her skin due to dried blood ripping wounds open anew, though the Witch's touch quickly found them. Something- magic, it could only be- seeped from her fingertips, providing a bit of comfort, but it didn't stop the initial sting nor take away the memory. "What deal did she make?"

"She was already turned by the time I met her. Had killed her husband out of bloodlust." Her tone turned soft, almost mournful. "She asked to be made numb to the pain. She didn't want to forget him but she couldn't stand an immortal life with that grief." The broach glowed a little brighter, as did her eyes. "I offered her a simple price. She would not feel the pain; all she had to do was serve me. It's not so bad a trade." When the glow died a little bit, a sad smile touched her lips. "Now, she feels nothing at all."

Her suspicion mounted, a frown tugging at her lips. "What's your name?"

"You know what they call me."

"That's not your name," she said, wincing as the bindings she wore across her chest were pulled away. Fareeha herself felt no shame as the warmth rolling off the from the roaring fire washed across her bare chest, but she noticed the way the Witch carefully averted her gaze, producing bandages from somewhere to cover her wounds and provide her a bit of modesty. "Who were you before you were the Witch of the Wilds?"

Her concerns grew as the broach pulsed, then faded in its shine. "My name was Angela. But they called me Mercy the Healer. That was another life."

Fareeha hummed, shifting slightly so the Witch could attend to a long gash along her thigh. "Is that why you're not just snapping your fingers to heal me? Do you miss accomplishing some tasks without the aid of magic?"

"I do, now that you mention it." And then the glow returned. "But magic does make things easier. Even if it requires some trade offs."

"I think 'sacrifices' is more accurate." She had a hunch- she'd heard tales about enchanted artifacts before, though they varied from telling to telling- and opted to follow her gut. It had gotten her this far. "I've decided on my price, by the way."

"Oh?" The glow brightened as her lips pulled wide. "Do tell."

"A kiss." Fareeha offered a grin. "That's a price I can pay."

"And one I'll happily accept." The Witch leaned closer, forgoing her task for the moment. "I'll collect now, seeing as I'm almost finished. That's not a problem, is it?"

"Not at all," she replied, able to move more easily now that the majority of her wounds were tended to, and she reached out to cup the woman's jaw, lightly guiding her closer… but that wasn't her true aim.

Instead, when the Witch's eyes fluttered closed, she slipped her hand down to the broach and grabbed it, clenching her hand into a fist. It resisted her for a moment but magical artifacts typically had a profound weakness to physical pressure and a moment later saw the trinket crushed in her grip.

For her part, the Witch's eyes flew open, wide, when she realized her broach had been grabbed, but couldn't seem to pry Fareeha's hand open in time to save the trinket, the light fleeing her eyes as it crumbled to dust. For a moment, she sat, still and stunned, before slumping forward, the knight reaction quickly to keep her from hitting the ground.

The magic that had dulled her pain briefly lessened, and she bit back a curse at the strain, but then she focused properly on the woman now blinking the world back into focus.

"What?" She raised a hand to her head, wincing momentarily before everything seemed to register, and she quickly pat at the hollow of her throat, ensuring the broach had indeed been destroyed. "You… how did you know?"

"I had a hunch." Fareeha let out a breathless little chuckle born of relief. "I supposed it was some manner of enchanted artifact?"

"Yes," she replied, tears gathering in her eyes. "It was given to me years ago, a gesture of supposed good will. It made my magic more powerful… but it had a mind of its own and fed off the suffering of others. I couldn't control it."

"It was probably cursed." A shrug of her shoulders. "It put you under the same stipulations and then used you to spread them: it gave you that which you sought, but at a price that far outweighed the benefit." Settling back into the arm chair, lethargy began to sap the remainder of her strength and she let her eyes fall closed. "I'm surprised it agreed to accepting a kiss. Did it plan on stealing something from me in the process?"

"Your voice, I think. A petty retribution but it thrived on the act itself, not so much the damage caused." She heard the woman shuffling beside her. "Thank you, Pharah. I appreciate this more than words can say."

"Fareeha." She lightly corrected, feeling slumber calling to her.

If a response came, she didn't hear it, drifting off to sleep now that the threat had been neutralized.

* * *

When she awoke, it was with a profound sense of confusion. She quite clearly remembered falling asleep in the armchair by the fireplace but found herself tucked into a bed far more comfortable than she'd ever slept in before. Scrubbing the sleep from her eyes as she sat up and looked around. Somehow, while she slept, she'd been transported to a lavish bedroom with windows almost to the ceiling, the murky, grey clouds of the storm still hanging heavy in the sky beyond, and by her bed sat the Witch.

Well, perhaps less 'the' Witch with the destruction of the broach, as she'd taken off the hat and no longer had the same miasma of dread hovering over her. The woman slumped there, chin against her chest, seemingly asleep as she watched over her patient's bedside. She looked… peaceful.

"Putain de bordel de merde de fais chier d'enculé!"

… which stood at direct odds to _that_ muffled shouting coming from somewhere else in the castle.

"Hmmm?" Slowly, the woman stirred, then snapped awake when she noticed Fareeha watching her. "Oh, you've awoken. That's good. Your bandages need changing."

"I thought you healed me?" Despite the objection, she laid back and allowed the healer to check her bandages, revealing each with a few spots of blood but mostly sealed, now just little pink scars littering her body like so many others.

"When you broke the broach, it undid all my magic-"

"CONNASSE!" The voice became louder.

"-and I mean _all_ my magic." She sighed, looking towards the door. "Ignore Amélie; she's not half as angry as she sounds. She's just… finally able to express her emotions and that's the one she's settled on, it seems."

"You should go check on her." She smiled, leaning back against the headboard. "I'll be fine in the meantime."

"Frankly, I tried earlier. She's not too keen on talking just yet." The woman shrugged and sat back in her seat. "I'm afraid you're the only patient I have to care for right now."

"I thank you…" She trailed off, unsure which moniker would be most appropriate given the circumstances.

"Angela." Her lips curled, for while the enchanted broach might be gone, it seemed the woman still possessed a bit of the humor she's shown. "Others might call me Mercy but you've earned my given name, at the very least. I'm not sure how I'll repay you for freeing me of that wretched curse."

Fareeha mulled it over for a moment before opting to take a bit of a gamble; it worked well so far. "I seem to recall I've yet to compensate you for your services. Seeing as they're both intertwined, I think the same price would be in order."

For a moment, her brows rose before her smile stretched even wider. "I see the wisdom in that suggestion."

Standing up, Angela leaned over the bed and brushed her lips against Fareeha's- a soft, barely there touch, and it left her wanting more, which she might well have tried arguing for… were it not-

"ANGELA!"

-for _that_.

"Ah, I suppose she's ready to talk." A hand landed lightly on the knight's shoulder. "I'll be back to check on you soon."

"Take your time," Fareeha said, watching as the healer left and subconsciously licking her lips.

Perhaps she could entreat Angela into accepting a bodyguard of sorts. The Witch of the Wilds had garnered a fierce reputation and, now that the woman had returned to her former self, there may well be those who would seek to do her harm.

The chance to learn a bit more about the woman served as an excellent bonus, too.


End file.
